


Walk the Deathly Edge

by HPFandom_archivist



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Action/Adventure, Drama, Explicit Language, M/M, Romance, Sexual Content, Slash sex, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-09
Updated: 2012-06-08
Packaged: 2018-09-30 08:08:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,006
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10158290
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HPFandom_archivist/pseuds/HPFandom_archivist
Summary: Eventual LV/HP Slash. WIP. A slightly different Harry with a slightly different ending to the Goblet of Fire sets the stage for Harry to travel the bitter path to greatness. Voldemort escaped Death. But Harry will do better; he will master Death.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Note from SeparatriX, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [HP Fandom](http://fanlore.org/wiki/HP_Fandom_\(archive\)), which was closed for health and financial reasons. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in August 2016. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [HP Fandom collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/hpfandom/profile).

**Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoat Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.**

**Walk the Deathly Edge**

Warnings for this Chapter: Violence and some torture

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Prologue

 

“Are you afraid, Harry Potter?”

 

Yes. Yes, Harry was afraid. Cold terror grasped Harry’s heart. Breath came in unsteady gasps as he breathed in the frigid graveyard air. Tremors shook the young wizard’s slight body. The hopelessness of the predicament Harry found himself in was suffocating, smothering the boy‘s confidence and hope. He wasn’t prepared for this. But who would be?

 

The source of his terror stood not ten feet away. The figure; pale and tall, hairless and snakelike, with eyes of crimson, was the Dark Lord Voldemort. The dark wizard didn’t look human. A flat nose with slit nostrils, a lipless mouth, pupils of vertical slits. Any sane being would find the Dark Lord monstrous and ugly. Harry didn’t find him ugly. No, he found Voldemort to be very striking, strangely attractive. He had an unforgettable and frightening appearance. 

 

But what really scared Harry was the sheer amount of power this man had. The boy had never seen so much magic within one being before. And Harry had certainly never seen magic so dark. Dark, dark, black magic whipped and raged around the tall wizard, filled with murderous intent. The very atmosphere seemed to chill and darken in Lord Voldemort’s presence. A seductive, albeit still dangerous, sight in better circumstances. 

 

In contrast to his magic, Voldemort appeared calm, lazy even, as he tilted his head and took in the sight of the small boy. Slit pupil eyes roamed hungrily over Harry’s body, moved up to his face to trace the curve of the boy’s jaw, the arch of the cheekbones, pausing briefly upon the scar. Every detail of Harry was taken in by red eyes. Slowly, those unnatural eyes came to meet the boy’s eyes. The elder wizard basked in the fear he saw there, eyes dilating in dark pleasure. Breathless laughter flowed from the lipless mouth. The laughter was quiet, yet it managed to carry over the jeering of the surrounding deatheaters effortlessly. The hair on the back of Harry’s neck stood on end. Voldemort Laughing? That couldn’t be good….

 

“You have been taught how to duel, Harry Potter?” asked Voldemort softly, cruel amusement evident in his eyes. 

 

And why shouldn’t Voldemort be amused? Harry thought despairingly. The only thing Harry learned from the dueling club was the Disarming Spell and Stunning Spell. The boy was not foolish enough to think that an expelliarmus would help him. Not against this dark wizard. He was only a fourteen year old boy, with little experience and knowledge of magic. In face of the wrath of Lord Voldemort, Harry was helpless, and they both knew it. 

 

“Does fear hold your tongue? “ Voldemort quietly asked. The man’s snake like nostrils flared, and he breathed in deeply through his nose. Harry briefly wondered if the man could smell fear. “Come now, where is that Gryffindor courage, Harry?” another hissing chuckle was issued. 

 

Harry remained silent as the death eaters roared in laughter.

 

“Very well. We bow to each other, Harry Potter.” The Dark Lord gave a slight bow; his face remained trained on Harry, a slow smile twisting across the serpentine face. Dark magic spiked excitedly.

 

A spark of defiance lit within Harry. He wouldn’t bow. Not to this wizard. Not to the murderer of his parents. The man who was directly and indirectly responsible for all the pain he had suffered in his young life. If he was to die he wouldn’t allow Voldemort to humiliate and play with him. Straightening his back, Harry tried to swallow his fear and shot a defiant glare at Voldemort. It came off as rather weak…..he was still so terrified of the monster before him.

 

Blood red eyes lit up as they took in the boy’s defiance. That horrible grin widened. “Now Harry, niceties must be observed…Dumbledore would like you to show manners…Bow to death, Harry…..”

 

Harry did not bow. 

 

“I said, bow,” Voldemort said as he raised his wand to point at Harry. The boy felt an invisible force push his back down into a bow. Humiliation and shame swept through Harry, as unhinged laughter echoed across the grave yard, the deatheaters delighted in the sight of the Boy Who Lived bowing to their lord.

 

Harry lifted his head, bright green eyes clashing with malignant red. The boy could clearly see a promise of death in them.

 

“And now, we duel,” Voldemort gleefully rasped. In one quick movement, a curse was speeding towards Harry. The boy hadn’t seen it coming. 

 

It was pain beyond anything Harry had ever felt, beyond even imagining. The young wizard forgot where he was, who he was. It was an all consuming nightmare. Nerve ending burst into flame. Harry was vaguely aware of screaming. His screaming. 

 

Slitted nostrils dilated in excitement as Voldemort raptly took in the sight of the lithe form writhing and twisting in the mud. Pretty green eyes watered and scrunched in pain. Ebony hair became coated in mud. Youthful screams filled his ears. ‘A few moments longer,’ he thought.

 

When the pain faded, Harry gradually became aware of where he was. He knew exactly what curse had been used on him. The Cruciatus curse. How could he even dream of being able to compete with spells like that? As he laid gasping and shaking on the cold ground, his thoughts raced quickly. ‘No, no, no,’ Harry’s mind screamed at him. He couldn’t die like this, so pathetically, waiting for death. He had barely even begun to live….How he hated this helplessness. Why was he always helpless? Always trapped. This emotion, this situation was almost a parallel of his life, his years of abuse at the hands of his relatives, the duplicity of the wizarding world. The boy wanted to be free, to live. Harry forcefully pushed down the terror, and grabbed hold of the one emotion that was always with him.

 

Rage.

 

Hot, hot, boiling, burning rage. Anger scorched through his veins, focusing his mind, and exciting his magic. Harry allowed the dark emotion to consume him. Fear had never helped him as anger had.

 

He spotted the Twizard cup a ways outside the circle of deatheaters, forgotten. Crabbe and Goyle were in the way of the portkey. With any luck they would be as dull and pathetic as their offspring. He quickly averted his eyes, not wanting anyone catch onto his plan. How to reach it?

 

“Will you die lying on the ground, Harry?” Voldemort hissed quietly. “Perhaps the pain was too much for you? Crawl to me, Harry….and beg my forgiveness,” crooned Voldemort, face filled with pleasure. “Do that and I will be merciful, a quick death, you would not be made to suffer anymore.”

 

Harry jerkily rose to his feet. Breathless no longer from fear and pain, but from the hatred he felt for this man. He knew just the spell to distract Voldemort and his deatheaters long enough to reach the cup. A dangerous, desperate spell for a dangerous, desperate situation. They wouldn’t be able to stop it….but then neither would Harry. The young wizard spitefully hoped it maimed, if not kill, the bloody bastards. Now to see if he could successfully cast the spell. 

 

His gaze connected with Voldemort’s. The very thought of begging this man for anything was revolting and infuriating. Harry hissed with rage, uncharacteristically snake like. 

 

Interest entered the Dark Lord’s eyes, though it left quickly, leaving only that cold malice behind. 

 

_“I will **never** beg **you** for **anything** ,”_ hissed Harry furiously, unknowingly slipping into parsletounge in his ire. 

 

Shocked silence followed. The death eaters were no longer laughing, all eyes were uneasy as they stared at the Boy Who Live. The sound of wind playing with dead grass was the only thing to be heard in the dark graveyard. 

 

Lord Voldemort was silent as well, eyes intense as they searched Harry’s. _“No, I don’t expect you would beg me. You are surprising…such anger Harry, how beautifully your magic reacts to it,”_ Voldemort smoothly hissed to Harry. _“A parseltongue as well? How unexpected….It irks me to think Dumbledore has had you, a speaker, in his grasp.”_

 

The Deatheaters, hearing their master speaking the language of the snakes, began to shift uncomfortably, fear evident. Harry thought it was odd that death eaters were as irrationally afraid of parseltongue as his friends and schoolmates were.

 

Dark magic caressed Harry’s face, crackling across his skin, given rise to goose bumps. The boy inhaled unsteadily at the strange, but not unpleasant, sensation. 

 

Harry’s reaction didn’t escape the Dark Lord’s notice Voldemort’s thin mouth quirked into a small smile. _“No matter, I intend to rectify that now. Such a pity.”_ The dark wizard took a purposeful step towards the boy; long fingered hands slowly lifted the yew wand to Harry.

 

_'Now,’_ Harry thought, _‘it’s now or never.’_

 

“Adv-”

 

Harry gathered all his strength, all his magic, fueled by anger and hate, lifted his wand and yelled out-

 

“FIENDFYRE”

 

Crimson eyes widened with shock. Snakes, basilisks, grims, three headed cerberus, and strange winged horses of fire sped towards Voldemort, spreading outward the closer it came to the Dark lord. Deatheathers cried out in surprise, scurrying to avoid flames. But nobody was more surprised then Harry. The boy watched his spell in pleased, wide-eyed awe. He really had not expected it to work. Harry ecstatically willed it to spread, to be even more uncontrollable. Dark pleasure coursed through him at the pained screams of an unlucky deatheather. _’Serves them right.’_ It really was too bad he would not be able to watch the fiendfyre any longer. It was a magnificent sight, though Harry had thought his fire would have featured lions, phoenix, or even deer….

 

Of course the Dark Lord managed to escape the flames unscathed. Harry never intended for it to hit Voldemort. A large, quick spreading wall of fiery striking serpents, snarling canines, bucking horses stood between Harry and Voldemort. Luck was on Harry’s side; most of the Death eaters were separated from Harry as well. 

 

Eyes connected briefly with angry crimson across the fire, Harry spun around, firing two stunners in rapid succession. A grunt signaled Goyle’s fall. The second stunner shot an inch over Crabbe‘s box like head. Harry couldn’t afford time to stand still, so he ran full speed, straight for Crabbe. The troll of a man just stood there dumbly, seemingly confused by Harry racing toward him, and not away. 

 

An angry hiss told Harry that Voldemort had figured out Harry‘s plan of escape. 

 

Now very close to the death eater, the boy aimed his wand at the over sized forehead and whispered, “Stupefy.” Harry jumped over the falling body. Only Nott was left. 

 

Harry heard laughter as his feet hit the ground. Surprisingly it was his laughter. His magic was like electricity in his veins, sparking inside him, giddy at being used. It was a feeling of pleasure Harry had never felt before.

 

“STUN HIM,” a cold voice hissed furiously.

 

The boy was already running fast, using his quick reflexes to duck and dodge Nott’s spells. Harry aimed a stunner behind him, and cursed as it missed. And cursed once again as he noticed Voldemort quickly and gracefully making his way around the inferno.

 

A tombstone shattered on his left and Harry whipped his head back to the direction of the cup. The cup was less then twenty feet away…. 

 

Pain exploded in Harry’s legs, the boy dropped hard onto the ground. Harry seethed as he took in the sight of his mangled legs. The leg breaking curse. Those thin limbs were completely useless to him now. The boy gritted his teeth and bore the pain. This would not stop him. The fool should have used a stunner. Harry still had his magic.

 

Very close to Harry, a stunner exploded the ground. _Of course now the sadistic arsehole will try to stun me._ Harry sent an unsuccessful stunner of his own at Nott; the death eater easily blocked it. A smug smirk settled on the mans face, rubbing Harry in all the wrong ways. 

 

Harry angrily gave the man a forced, pained smile. Lets see how he likes this. Pointing his wand at the advancing wizard, adrenaline rushed through the boy’s body, his heart pounding. Harry bluffed.

 

“Fiendfyre!” 

 

The boy unsteadily cackled as Nott let out a strangled scream, and threw his body to dodge…nothing. Satisfaction filled Harry as he shakily whispered “Stupefy.” Harry’s slender, twitching hands held the holly wand to where Nott‘s body would fall. Realization dawned upon Nott’s face, but it was too late. Harry’s spell slammed into Nott, knocking the deatheater unconscious. 

 

Harry was unable to move any closer towards the portkey. He could always make it come to him. The young wizard pointed his wand at the Twizard cup, and exhaustedly muttered “Accio.” As the cup hurdled toward Harry, the boy looked towards the fire. His gaze landed on Voldemort. The Dark lord was too far away, too late, to prevent Harry’s escape. The elder wizard seemed to realize this as well for he made no move to stop Harry.

 

Surprisingly the man was not angry that Harry Potter would escape him. Voldemort seemed very calm. The man’s dark magic was circling him lazily. Voldemort thoughtfully observed Harry, eyes half lidded, head slightly tilted.

 

That calm expression rapidly changed as the portkey collided with Harry. The boy hardly noticed the cup, those intense blood red eyes had him trapped and overwhelmed, never wavering from his own killing curse green glower. A smirk was worn on the pale face.

 

“You and I will be seeing each other very soon, Harry,” Voldemort promised quietly. 

 

Not if Harry could help it. “No we won’t,” the boy defiantly replied. He felt the familiar tug of the portkey at his naval. 

 

Darkly amused laughter followed him to Hogwarts.

 

Harry was left feeling uncomfortably paranoid.

 

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**This chapter is in need of editing. I'm sure there are typos and spelling/grammar errors. Eventually I will have more time to edit, or get a beta.**


	2. Chapter 1

**Walk the Deathly Edge**

Warning for this chapter: Slight torture

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Chapter 1

 

_Harry groaned as he lay in the grass, Twizard Cup at his side. Broken legs hurt a good deal more when he wasn’t high on adrenaline. He was too exhausted to move, black dots had begun to creep along the edge of his vision, and Harry barely noticed Dumbledore at his side._

_“Harry? Harry!”_

_A wrinkled hand gripped his shoulder, and Harry found himself looking up into the worried face of Albus Dumbledore. A frown marred the aged Headmaster’s face, as he turned to inspect the mess of Harry’s legs._

_A powerful, warm, healing magic settled over the boy’s legs. It was strange to Harry that Dumbledore's magic was not nearly as alluring as the Dark Lord's, despite the almost equal level of power._

_“What happened, Harry?” asked Dumbledore, voice grave._

_“He’s back. Voldemorts back.” Harry could see a crowd gathering in the corner of his blurred vision. Tilting his head back, tired green eyes could make out Fleur Delacour and Victor Krum, all of the Twizard Tournament champions except for……_

_‘Oh No.’_

_“Harry, where is Cedric?” Dumbledore quietly asked._

_But Harry wasn’t listening. Eyes unfocused, he stared to Delacour and Krum. Guilt wound and twisted its way through the boy. How could he have forgotten Cedric? He was killed in front of him mere moments ago. When the Dark Lord rose from the cauldron, Harry hadn’t spared another thought for Cedric. Voldemort’s overpowering presence had held the young wizard’s attention captive._

_“Where is Cedric Diggory?” Dumbledore asked more urgently. Harry turned his attention back to Dumbledore. The elderly wizard’s face was tense, blue eyes filled with dread. Dumbledore already suspected the worse. Harry supposed he would too, after hearing of Voldemort's involvement._

_“I think you already know the answer to that, sir.” Harry tiredly whispered, closing his eyes. Harry remembered the Dark Lord telling his followers how it was he had gotten a hold of Harry. There was a deatheater at Hogwarts._

_“Voldemort has a deatheater here at Hogwarts. He put my name in the Goblet of Fire, turned the cup into a portkey,” Harry said shortly. Not caring to explain any further, he let his head lull back. The magically and physically exhausted wizard eagerly awaited a blissful, black sleep. He didn’t have to wait long._

_Alastor Moody quickly left the crowd._

_;’;’;’;’;’;’;’;’;’;’;’;’;’;’;’;’;’;’;’;’;’;’;’;’;’;’;’;’;’;’;’;’;’;_

_The hospital wing was dimly lit and the air cool when Harry awoke. A figure at his side caught Harry’s attention. Dumbledore was sitting at his side, formed slouch, Dumbledore looked older then Harry had ever seen him._

_“Professor Dumbledore."_

_“Harry, my dear boy, how are you feeling?”_

_“Better I suppose. Did you find out who the deatheater was?”_

_“Yes, Bartemius Crouch Jr. disguised as Alastor Moody.” Dumbledore’s old voice held a trace of anger. That was surprising; Harry had never seen Dumbledore even the slightest bit angry._

_“Our Defense Professor was a deatheater?” It occurred to Harry that it shouldn’t be so surprising, Moody-uh-Crouch was the best Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor Harry had ever had. The man was not only great at teaching them to defend against the Dark Arts, he also demonstrated the Dark Arts to the students. The boy had thought it brilliant to show dark magic to the class; it made it more real, showed the students what to expect. Harry felt a twinge of disappointment at the loss of such a great Defense Professor. He certainly hoped they wouldn't get another Gilderoy Lockhart. But Crouch Jr.? Wasn’t he……_

_“But Professor, isn’t Bartemius Crouch Junior-”_

_“Dead?” Dumbledore finished. “I had thought so, but it appears that is not the case. I found Alastor locked in his own trunk," Dumbledore had a faraway look in eyes now; face aimed somewhere at the far wall. "From the accounts of my old friend, it seems Voldemort found out about the position at Hogwarts offered to him, as well as the Twizard Tournament. They overpowered Alastor, and Voldemort had Crouch take his place, using the polyjuice potion._

_"And…what happened to Crouch?"_

_"Gone. I imagine he is with his master now…But onto other matters." Dumbledore focused back on Harry. "I am sorry to ask this of you, but I need you to tell me everything that took place; from when you went into the maze to when you arrived back at Hogwarts. I need you to relive it one more time."_

_And so the boy began to tell the Headmaster everything that had transpired. The maze with Victor Krum attacking him; whom Harry suspected was under the Imperius Curse. Cedric and he grabbing the cup at the same time. Cedric's death. Wormtail's involvement; the ritual. Voldemort's rise. The deatheaters and Voldemort's speech. Voldemort being able to touch him; his mother's protection gone._

_But Harry left out the Parseltongue. It didn't seem that important, and people had never reacted favorably to it. Not to mention he really didn’t want Dumbledore to know the content of said conversation. The more time Harry had to think of what Voldemort had said to him, the more he realized how disturbing it really was._

_He vaguely mentioned trying to distract Voldemort long enough to get to the cup._

_"Distract? Just how were you able to distract Lord Voldmort and his deatheaters?" Dumbledore questioned somewhat disbelievingly._

_Harry was hesitant to tell Dumbledore of just which spell he used for the distraction. The wizard wasn't completely certain fiendfyre was dark…But he had to admit it most likely was. The book Harry found fiendfyre in wasn't a dark arts book; it contained all sorts of magic. Even the Patronus Charm, very light magic, held a spot inside._

_Then again, what was Harry worried about? Dumbledore would understand. He would trust Harry. Harry had always trusted Dumbledore; the headmaster was not as narrow-minded as many other wizards were._

_Hopeful in the trust he had placed in Albus Dumbledore; yet still unwillingly expecting disappointment, Harry tensely told him, "Fiendfyre, sir."_

_Silence._

_Harry's heart sank as he took in the expression on his headmaster's face. Pure shock held the elder wizard's face. Soon replaced by worry and a small bit of suspicion._

_After a long few moments, face unreadable, Dumbledore quietly asked, "How did you learn that spell?"_

_Dumbledore wanted to know how he learnt it. If Harry told the Headmaster of his book would it be taken? Harry didn't like to think so, but he also liked to think Dumbledore would be more understanding of Harry using fiendfyre. After all, Harry may not even be here if it weren't for that spell, dark or not. And Dumbledore definitely did not have the accepting look Harry was hoping for. Maybe before Harry had met Voldemort, face to face, he would have grudgingly handed the book over. But not now. Harry needed to read every single word, learn every bit of magic that book offered._

_"I read it in a book, I think it may have been one Hermione was studying," Harry lied, "I don't even really remember what book it was, sir. I was just bored and started flipping through it, and found fiendfyre. I thought the spell was kind of interesting." That at least was partly true. Harry had only opened the pages to fiendfyre by pure chance. The fiendfyre and patronus were the only sections Harry had read much of._

_"Harry, where would you have practiced that spell? It is much too destructive a spell to practice here, at Hogwarts, unnoticed," Dumbledore looked as if he suspected something unpleasant as he asked Harry this._

_Harry hoped Dumbledore wasn't thinking he was actively practicing Dark Arts. He really wasn't. But even if he was, wasn't it intention that mattered?_

_"I swear I never practiced it, Professor, I only read about it once!" the boy hurriedly began, wanting to clear any misconceptions as soon as possible, "I didn't even think it would wor-"_

_The young wizard stopped trying to explain abruptly as he noticed the look Dumbledore gave him. The Light Lord was staring at him with something Harry could only describe as being close to horrified awe._

_What in the world was going on?_

_It was very confusing. Shouldn't Dumbledore be relieved Harry wasn't practicing Dark Arts? Maybe even happy that Harry was able to use that kind of magic to escape a damned powerful Dark Lord._

_"Harry, you are absolutely certain you never cast fiendfyre before? You have never practiced it?" Dumbledore questioned quickly, his blue eyes stared directly into Harry's own. Half moon spectacles slid down the crooked nose, but the Headmaster paid them no attention._

_"…Yes, I promise you, sir, I never have," Harry answered, filled with dread. Harry wasn't even sure if that was a good thing anymore._

_Harry felt a stab of irritation. What was going on? Why wouldn't Dumbledore just tell him? And now Dumbledore was regarding Harry with despair and worry. Harry had enough. He opened his mouth, "What's wro-"_

_"I must warn you against those types of magics, Harry," Dumbledore interrupted, "Nothing good could ever come from using the Dark Arts." Correcting his spectacles, Dumbledore's eyes scanned across Harry's face as if he had never seen him before._

_"Of course, Professor," the boy quickly agreed eager to direct the seemingly hopeless conversation to something else. Anything else. Harry remembered something he had asked Dumbledore a long time ago. He was surely ready to hear it now._

_"Professor, could you tell me why Voldemort tried to kill me when I was a baby?" Harry knew the answer before Dumbledore opened his mouth. It was similar to the looks the Dursleys gave Harry when he used to ask about his parents. It was kinder, but the look still told Harry that he wouldn't be learning anything._

_"I'm afraid now is not the time, Harry. You will know soon enough, but not now." Dumbledore sadly informed Harry._

_The boy could tell the man was truly regretful he couldn’t, for whatever reason, tell Harry why Voldemort tried to kill him. Anger wretched at Harry's stomach. It didn’t matter if Dumbledore was sorry, it didn’t matter if he truly believed it for the best that Harry didn't know._

_Harry wanted-no needed to know. He needed to know why a bloody Dark Lord would hunt him at the age of one. Harry hadn't even really understood what Dark Lord meant until the graveyard. He understood now. He understood that he would most likely die, probably very soon, and he deserved to know why._

_But looking at Dumbledore, Harry could also understand he would get nothing out of him. Harry swallowed his rage as best as he could. There was no use fighting with Dumbledore, and Harry didn’t want his Headmaster, whom he cared for and highly respected, to have anymore reason to think less of him._

_The rest of the time Dumbledore stayed with Harry was uncomfortable. For long periods of time the Headmaster scrutinized Harry, with an intense, searching look upon his face._

_What exactly Dumbledore was searching for Harry didn’t know._

 

;';';';';';';';';';';';';';';';';';';';';';';';';';';';';';';';';';';';';';';

 

Harry Potter lay on the dingy, lop sided mattress in his room, at Number 4 Privet Drive. He idly stroked the spine of his book, now one of his favorite possessions, as he thought back to that unpleasant day. That same day had only worsened when the Minister entered the Hospital Wing. 

 

Cornelius Fudge was a fool; there was no doubt about that. He hadn't even considered the possibility of Voldemort returning. Instead the Fudge had decided that Professor Dumbledore, the Hogwarts Staff, and Harry had all simultaneously gone insane. Harry couldn't blame the minister for thinking he was mad; Rita Skeeter had made it so everybody in the magical world thought it. But what reason would he have to doubt Dumbledore? Why was someone coming back from the dead so unbelievable to wizards, who had magic. Really, the word 'magic' should suggest that anything was possible. 

 

Harry got up and paced across the room, floorboards creaking and groaning under his feet. He kept sending frustrated glances at his locked door. The boy was unbearably eager to leave the Dursley's. The summer was not exactly a bad one, no; his home life had become somewhat tolerable after his relatives learned of his 'mass murdering' godfather. He was never beaten anymore, food was not withheld as often, and his family hadn't even gone out of their way to insult him. They avoided him and never spoke to him, just how he preferred it.

 

Still he was always locked in a little room. In isolation. It was infuriating to be held in a cage, especially one so easily escaped with magic. He, a wizard, was powerless to muggles. The fact that he wouldn’t always be so weak and controllable to Uncle Vernon was a small comfort; it didn’t help him now. Thankfully he would be leaving anytime now. 

 

Harry's face split into a wide grin. He would spend the rest of summer with Sirius at the Grimmauld place. Remus should be here any moment to pick him up. The wizard continued to pace as his mind drifted to darker thoughts. 

 

'You and I will be seeing each other very soon, Harry.'

 

The Dark Lord Voldemort's parting words. Harry hadn't seen Voldemort in person yet. Yet, he still couldn’t help but feel worried; good things never lasted long. 

 

His scar had acted up constantly this summer; on occasions it would be from the dark wizard's anger, but more and more often Harry would feel Voldemort's pleasure. Harry counted that as one more reason to worry. 

 

Rarely Harry would get visions in his sleep; all of Voldemort; all seen through the Dark Lord's eyes. At first the visions were hazy; as if he was looking through thick fog. Each new one became progressively clearer. This connection to Voldemort was couldn't be normal; it had to have some kind of important meaning. The boy feverishly desired to understand what that was. 

 

Dumbledore would have answers.

 

But… 

 

Should he risk telling Dumbledore? Dumbledore's reaction to fiendfyre had Harry loathed to tell the Headmaster anything out of the ordinary. Even if his Headmaster did have answers, would he tell Harry anything? Harry hesitantly decided to deal with it on his own for now.

 

Unfortunately for Harry, _Magicks of Power_ held no answers to his problem. Still, the book was fascinating. The beginning of the book featured powerful spells of light, dark, and neutral magic. Further on held information on all sorts of different branches of magic. Magic Harry had never even heard the slightest bit about! And to think he had come close to losing his book to Dumbledore. Having read the entire book, Harry knew now it would have been taken; he was sure some of the magic in _Magicks of Power_ was forbidden to even study. 

 

A passage on one certain kind of magic captivated Harry. The boy's magic had practically danced when Harry's green eyes absorbed the text. It-

 

His aunt's shrill scream cut through his thoughts.

 

"S-S-SIRIUS BLACK?" Petunia's screech was clearly heard in Harry's room.

 

A wide grin stretched the boy's face. Huh. He hadn't thought Sirius would show up. His godfather must be as restless as Harry, cooped up in his family house. He quickly gathered his things; carefully hiding his book at the bottom of his trunk.

 

Heavy thuds sounded Uncle Vernon's trip up the stairs. Lighter footsteps followed behind his Uncle. 

 

"The boys in there," Vernon said gruffly, unlocking all the locks on the door.

 

"Why is Harry **locked** in his rooms?" Sirius asked sharply.

 

Vernon stuttered as he opened the door. "Uh-h-he-" As the door swung open, Harry was greeted by quite a sight. It quickly became one of his favorite memories of Uncle Vernon. Vernon was backing away from Sirius, face pale and not the usual patchy, purple hue. His piggy, little eyes were wider and more fearful then Harry could ever remember seeing them. 

 

_'Backing up in the direction of the gun closet,'_ Harry noted. Meanwhile his Godfather's blue eyes were ice, piercing through Vernon's black ones. The marauder's face was tense. 

 

Sirius really did look capable of murder. Dehydrated lips cracked and split as Harry's grin became impossibly wider. He was never happier then now he had decided not to tell his family Sirius was innocent. 

 

Vernon sufficiently cowed, Sirius turned his face toward Harry. Tension melted away from the gaunt face. Sirius beamed at Harry. Three long strides later, Harry found himself swept into a crushing embrace. The boy had to force himself to stay relaxed at the unexpected contact. Harry held his smile firmly in place.

 

"Hey, Kiddo," Sirius greeted.

 

"Hi, Sirius," Harry responded, smile still in place.

 

Turning from Harry, Sirius began, "Let's get all your…" And stopped as his eyes roamed over the room, bare aside from broken children's toys and a ruined mattress. "This is your room, Harry?" Sirius voice had become a furious whisper. 

 

"Err… Yes," Harry uneasily answered. His home life on display was starting to get uncomfortable for Harry. Shame felt heavy upon his shoulders. "Why don’t we get out of here, Sirius," he said quietly.

 

The man's eyes were still sweeping the room, brows furrowed. After a few long seconds, too long to Harry, Sirius took a deep calming breath, and turned back to the boy. Giving Harry a smile, Sirius tried to sound cheerful as he said, "Alright Lets go." It came out choppy. 

 

Harry could see his Godfather's smile was strained; jaw was clenched, blue eyes angry. 

 

Sirius glared murder at his Aunt and Uncle the whole way they went to meet Lupin… 

 

Petunia and Vernon cowered.

 

Dudley wet himself.

 

*:*:*:*:*:*:*:*:*:*:*:*:*:*:*:*:*:*:*:*:*:*:*:*:*:*:*:*:*:*

 

Severus Snape was currently kneeling on numbingly cold stone floors. The man was thankful he had an excellent grip on his emotions. It came in handy for times like this. He may have convinced the Dark Lord he was not a traitor. But the Dark Lord could always change his mind. 

 

His fear threatened to rise as the silence dragged on. His master stood tall and still as red eyes gazed into the fireplace, face unmoving, perhaps lost in thought. Was Severus to be killed? A good twenty minutes had passed from when he had been summoned, and the Dark Lord still had not acknowledged him.

 

Snape dared not interrupt his Master's musings. He was on too thin of ice as it was. 

 

He suppressed a jump at the sound of a hissing voice. 

 

"Severus. Tell me, what do you know of the boy?" The Dark Lord still hadn't turned toward him.

 

"The boy, my Lord, what boy?" Snape asked voice steady. He looked down at his knees; the Potions Master had a very good idea of which boy.

 

"Don't be daft, Severus. You know exactly which boy," Voldemort said with a note of impatience.

 

"Potter? I know the brat is unremarkable in every way. A lazy, fame-seeking, imbecile who relies on his friends and fame for everything. He is -," Snape cut of quickly as the room was filled with hissing laughter.

 

As Snape looked up, he couldn't stop the slight jump at the Dark Lord's sudden closeness. Leaning towards Snape, a cruel smile distorted that pale face, and horrible red eyes drilled into his own. 

 

"Do you think so? A child that was able to escape me, not once, but several times, is an unremarkable imbecile? Was I bested by an _unremarkable imbecile_ , Severus?" Red eyes slightly widened in delight, as Snape unwillingly shivered. Unnaturally long, white fingers played with a yew wand. "Such high regard you have for your Lord," Voldemort whispered lowly, threateningly.

 

"No, my Lord!" Snape quickly tried to explain, "I never meant to imply anything of the sort. I know Potter only escaped by luck. By a fluke!"

 

A strange little smile curled on the Dark Lord's face. "It was not _all_ luck," was quietly spoken. Snape could barely make it out

 

The tall wizard straightened before turning sharply away, he glided back to the fireplace; bare feet never making a sound. 

 

"I see you have nothing useful for me. How disappointing. Bartemius told me much more, despite having one year as Harry's Professor to your four."

 

"I know his friends are-"

 

"Crucio." Snape instantaneously fell to the floor, screams welled inside his throat. 

 

When the curse ended, the Potions master slowly raised his trembling form to his earlier kneeling position.

 

"I already know who young Harry's friends are," hissed the Dark Lord irritably. The temperature of the air had dropped and the fire was burning brighter. "Do not bother me with such commonplace knowledge." 

 

Lord Voldemort turned his back on Snape, once again staring into the fire. "You do not see it… Neither did Bartemius." 

 

The Potions Master assumed his Master was talking to himself. But curiosity got the better of him. "See what, my Lord?"

 

The Dark Lord didn't answer.

 

When Voldemort did turn back towards him, a long arm was stretch out, with a tightly controlled ring of fire wrapping around one spidery hand. The Dark Lord never took his eyes off it. As if there was something fascinating to be found in the serpents of fire. 

 

Eyes still intent upon the fiendfyre, Voldemort quietly said, "I wonder… Does Albus see it?"

 

A large hand was waved dismissively to Snape. 

 

Snape took one last look at the Dark Lord's face, still trained obsessively on fiery serpents, before apparating away to Spinner's End.

 

Hours later, Severus Snape still didn’t know what exactly it was he couldn’t see. 

 

*:*:*:*:*:*:*:*:*:*:*:*:*:*:*:*:*:*:*:*:*:*

 

**There's bound to be more typos and grammar issues.**


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